


A Bloody Mess

by the_random_writer



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Cleaning, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Food, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:05:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6469399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zane confronts the results of Ty's momentary lapse in judgement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bloody Mess

Zane knew something was wrong as soon as he opened the door. He could smell it in the torpid air, taste it at the back of his throat and feel it through the hairs on his neck, which were standing sharply to attention. But most of all, he could see it on his husband's face, as plainly and clearly as the sun in the evening sky.

The signs were obvious, to anyone who knew Ty well. The slight furrow between his brows. The normally laughing mouth fixed in a rigid line. The muscles twitching gently along the left side of his jaw. And most tellingly of all, the look of heavy guilt flashing in those beautiful eyes.

As he dropped his satchel next to the door, Zane quickly came to an ugly and unwelcome conclusion. Beaumont Tyler Grady, his husband of almost a year, the tiger-taming, horse-hating, cat-cuddling love of his life, had done something _very_ bad.

Ty took a step towards him, then retreated again very slightly, as if he was scared to come too close. 

"Lone Star," he started, his voice and eyes full of alarm and fear, "before you go any further, I need you to know that this wasn't supposed to happen, and I'm really, really sorry."

Zane said nothing in response but gave Ty a small, supportive nod, then pushed past him into the house. To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure he even wanted to see what his husband had done. But he was married to Ty now, and that meant sharing his worst as well as his best, until death or disaster did them part.

"You weren't supposed to know about this," Ty called after him, pleading with him to understand. "I was gonna have it all cleaned up and taken care of long before you got home."

Zane strode to the rear of the narrow house, following the horrible smell. Pungent and earthy like freshly turned over soil, but sickly sweet at the same time. 

He caught sight of the compact kitchen and came to a sudden halt, utterly astounded by what he beheld.

Ty quietly padded up behind him. "I'm so sorry you had to see this, babe," he murmured over Zane's shoulder. "You said you were gonna do inventory at the store for a few hours, so I thought I would have more time."

Zane looked slowly around the room, not quite sure what to make of the colourful and gory view. He'd seen a lot of blood and guts in his time, some of which he'd spilled himself, but in all his years with the FBI, he'd never seen anything quite like _this_.

Every wall, every surface, every appliance, every object, every square inch of stainless steel, granite, plastic, glass and tile appeared to be coated in dark, sticky, dripping red. 

He glanced up and saw random, scattered splashes of scarlet on the light fixture and the ceiling. Jesus Christ. What the hell had Ty even done to get the stuff all the way up there? 

He turned around, his mouth hanging slightly open, his eyebrows raised in total shock, silently demanding an explanation.

Ty let out an embarrassed sigh, flipped a sopping towel over his shoulder, wiped the back of a red-stained hand across his eyes and hung his head in shame. "I figured you might be tired and hungry when you got home," he explained in a quiet voice. "So I decided to make you one of those energizing smoothie recipes you were looking at the other night."

Zane nodded, remembering that he'd bookmarked the page. "The one with the roasted beets?" he guessed.

Ty nodded glumly. "And the strawberries, yeah."

Zane scanned around the kitchen again, still not quite able to parse the horrendous view. "How many of the beets did you use?" he asked. He'd roasted them the night before, intending to try the recipe as soon as he had the chance.

Ty huffed quietly and stared at his feet. "All of them?" he cautiously confessed.

Zane snorted in disbelief. "Jesus Christ, Ty, there were four large beets in that bowl!"

"Yeah, so?" Ty retorted in a slightly defensive tone.

"You put _four_ large, roasted beets in a blender?" Zane repeated. "At the _same time_?"

Ty nodded confidently, as if his actions made absolutely perfect sense. "And a handful of strawberries as well. With some orange juice and coconut milk to thin it out," he explained. "Oh, and some of that organic granola you like. And a couple of spoonful's of honey to sweeten it up."

Zane slowly shook his head, then gently pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to decide whether he wanted to laugh or cry. No wonder the kitchen looked like the setting for the Baltimore Chainsaw Massacre. Ty had tried to blend enough food to feed a family of four in one catastrophically messy shot.

The stuff was _everywhere_. It was going to take them hours to clean it up. 

Correction.

It was going to take _Ty_ hours to clean it up. He wasn't touching this with somebody else's shit-covered stick.

Zane's eyes fell on the granite counter, and the expensive, capacious instrument that was obviously the source of the mess.

"Don't take this the wrong way, doll," he said, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, "but have you ever used a high performance blender before?

"Well, of course I have," Ty shot back, outraged at the mere suggestion that he didn't know exactly what he was doing.

"Uh huh," Zane replied, smiling softly. "So you do know you're supposed to put the lid on _before_ you press the Start button?"

"Lone Star, I swear to God, I put the damn lid on," Ty protested.

Zane's eyebrows shot up again, and his smile became a shit-eating grin. "You sure about that, doll?" he asked in a teasing tone. "Because the physical evidence begs to differ."

Ty huffed and folded his arms defensively across his chest. "It's possible I didn't the put lid on properly," he admitted quietly.

"And you switched it on at full power, didn't you?" Zane asked.

No verbal answer for that one. Just a slightly indignant glare, then a small, sheepish nod of the head.

"Must have been quite a sight," Zane remarked, plucking a sliver of strawberry off the front of the fridge and flicking it into the sink.

Ty snorted. "Was kinda like that scene in the first _Nightmare on Elm Street_ movie."

Zane snickered and nodded, catching the reference. "The bit where Johnny Depp dies, with the fountain of blood in the bed." God. That brought up some fond memories. He and Becky had gone to see it in the theatre, a few months after they'd started dating. It might be a harmless old movie now, but it had scared both of them shitless at the time.

He and Ty stood for a few moments, quietly contemplating the dripping mess.

Zane gestured at the cupboard doors. "Do you have _any_ idea how hard it is to get rid of beetroot stains?" he asked, smiling again to take the sting out of his words.

"Lone Star, tell me something I don't know," Ty grumbled as he pulled the soaking towel from his shoulder and flopped it loudly onto the counter. "I've been trying to clean this up for the last thirty minutes, and I swear I'm just making it worse."

"Maybe you should Google it," Zane suggested. He was very much of the opinion that if you couldn't find an answer on Google, it either didn't exist, or wasn't worth knowing.

"I went one better than that," Ty replied. "I called my mom and asked her."

Zane couldn't argue with his husband there. In some situations, Mara Grady was an even better provider of answers than Google.

"What did she say?" he asked.

"She was on her way out for the night, so she didn't have time to explain in full," Ty replied, tilting his head to crack his neck. "But she said to use cold water, detergent, Oxy agent and bread."

"Bread?" Zane repeated in a slightly skeptical tone.

"Bread," Ty confirmed, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. "But I couldn't for the life of me tell you how or why." 

He picked up his abandoned towel, hefted it into the pink-stained sink and turned on the cold tap, obviously intending to continue with his recovery efforts.

Zane ambled out of the kitchen, avoiding the sticky patches on the floor, and headed back to the front of the house.

Ty turned away from the sink, a look of alarm on his handsome face. "Babe, I know I fucked up here, but please tell me you're not leaving me to deal with this by myself?" he pleaded.

Zane paused at the bottom of the stairs. He hated cleaning the bathroom or kitchen, so he was sorely tempted, but he couldn't quite bring himself to be that cruel.

"Relax, doll," he called back. "I'm just gonna go change into some ratty clothes I don't mind losing."

Ty snickered.

"What's so funny?" Zane demanded.

"Lone Star, you help me clean up this mess, you'll be losing _all_ of your clothes at the end of the night, whether you mind or not."

Zane grinned. "Is that a threat, Meow Mix?"

"No, babe, it's a promise," Ty shot back in a teasing voice.

Zane shrugged and took the stairs two at a time. 

For some reason he couldn't quite explain, cleaning up the sticky mess in the kitchen was now going to be a _wonderful _way to end the day…__

 


End file.
